


Blank Canvas

by buttphan



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Tattoo Parlor, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety, Blood, Depression, Eating Disorders, F/F, Fluff, M/M, Original Character(s), Originally Posted on Tumblr, Suicide Attempt, Swearing, lots of smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-12
Updated: 2016-06-12
Packaged: 2018-07-14 13:07:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7172978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buttphan/pseuds/buttphan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dan is an extremely talented but unrecognized tattoo artist, his body a black and white masterpiece. Phil, on the other hand, has everything against tattoos. When he’s dragged along to his sister’s addition to her collection of ink, he realizes that perhaps turning one’s body from a blank canvas into a work of art is something to find beautiful instead of repulsive.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

There were three people seated in Phil’s car. Him, of course, slouched in front of the steering wheel; his sister, Maggie, with one violet earbud slightly visible through her fiery hair; and Bianca, Maggie’s blue-haired and bubbly girlfriend.

Phil rolled the knotted end of the string to his hoodie, his thumb brushing over the frayed tip. “Are you sure there isn’t anyone else that can drive you? You know how I feel about this,” he said, his voice just short of a whine. His cerulean eyes found his sister’s, whose were almost the exact same shade of blue.

She replied with a scoff. “You’re the only one with both a car and a licence.” Her lacquered nails ran through her hair. “And besides, you’re better moral support than B is.”

That earned an “Oi!” from behind them. Maggie turned around in her seat and gave B a wink while her brother had his eyes transfixed to the steering wheel.

“C'mon then,” she pestered, nudging Phil in the shoulder. “We haven’t got all night. And Dan hates waiting.”

—

Phil was afraid of only two things: spiders and tattoo parlors. Most people could relate to the arachnids, but others laughed at his fear of something as harmless as a tattoo parlor. Sometimes, even Phil laughed with them. But it was when he stepped through the glass doors behind Maggie and B that the fear kicked in. Everything in the dark room was foreign to him, from the heavily tattooed people sitting in various plush chairs that leaned back all the way, to the humongous wall of designs that stared at him to his left. The only thing recognizable was the faint voice of Vic Fuentes playing from above his head.

He took a deep breath. There’s nothing to be afraid of, he told himself. He chewed on his hoodie string to try to keep himself calm.

“Dan!” Phil heard, his attention immediately focusing on his sister, who was making her way to a huge figure. He was too far away to see clearly, especially with the lack of light.

“Hey, Mag. Are you seriously getting another? You were only here a few weeks ago.” Phil was taken aback. Someone as large as this “Dan” surely couldn’t have a voice so … soft? Phil couldn’t think of a better word.

“She’s addicted,” B stage-whispered. Maggie rolled her eyes.

“Who’s this?” he said, walking over to Phil. Dan stepped under the light, and Phil was even surprised by his face, which, although was decorated with piercings, looked softer and gentler than what Phil had expected. His name seemed to suit it perfectly.

Phil let the black string of his hoodie fall against his chest. “I’m, um, Phil,” he muttered, cautiously looking into Dan’s chocolate eyes. They were almost the same color as his hair, which was styled in a fringe not unlike his own.

“Ah, you must be Maggie’s brother.” His lips formed a smile, which revealed a deep dimple in his cheek. “She’s told me a lot about you,” he adds, “and how you hate tattoos.”

“Um,” he stuttered, unsure of what to say. How would he reply without offending him? “I, uh, I don’t have anything against anyone who has any, it’s just, I wouldn’t get them for myself, y'know? Needles are a bit frightening, along with the idea of something permanent on my skin.”

To his relief, Dan laughed. “Nah, mate, it’s cool. I get it, I used to be deathly afraid of needles as well.” He leaned against the glass counter. “It’s sweet of you to come for your sister, though.”

Phil could only reply with a shy attempt at a smirk.

Dan led the three of them to another room with better lighting, where Maggie showed Dan what she wanted tattooed. She handed him a piece of paper with a phrase scribbled in black ink; it was too far away for Phil to read it.

They began talking about prices and colors and other things Phil wasn’t necessarily interested in. He leaned against the closed door, his eyes scanning the room. It was small, more a closet than a room, and its walls were bare of anything but white paint.

Sitting cross-legged in the center of the chair, Maggie pulled off her t-shirt and showed Dan where she wanted her design to be placed, dragging her finger along the underside of her left breast. Dan continually nodded his head. It seemed absentminded, as he was preoccupied with getting his equipment ready, his top lip sucking on his snake bites.

“I forgot to tell you,” Dan said, pressing a button on his iPod. “You Know What They Do To Guys Like Us In Prison” played through the speakers they were attached to. “I like your sweatshirt.” He took his eyes off the contraption he held in his hand and gestured to Phil’s chest. He looked down at the picture of the skeleton from The Black Parade’s album art and a small smile jerked his lips upward.

“Thanks. They’re actually my favorite band.”

Dan smiled again, his signature dimple reappearing. “Funnily enough, they’re mine too.” He turned his head to Maggie. “You didn’t tell me your brother was cute and had a good taste in music, otherwise I would have made you bring him here sooner.”

Phil, completely taken aback, could feel his face grow hot with blush. Maggie and B giggled at his reaction, which only grew more fierce as Dan sent him a wink.

He pulled up a chair from the corner of the small room and set it down behind the plush bench Maggie and B were seated in, slouching his back and bringing his knees up to his chest in order to find a comfortable position to wallow in embarrassment until they were finished (from which he could curl up in a ball under his duvet and pretend none of this happened). He pushed his glasses against his nose and peered over his knees. Maggie had her eyes closed, her chest moving visibly with every breath. B held her hand, her lilac hair a shield for her face. The dark skin of her hand stood out against the paleness of Maggie’s, her white nails in contrast of Maggie’s black.

Phil always viewed their relationship with envy. He often wished he could have someone to hold his hand when he was feeling alone, or someone to grip tight when the fear became a bit too real, or someone to take his breath away with words of love. Even with their arguments and falling-outs, Maggie and B had such a near-perfect relationship, at least in Phil’s mind. The last relationship he had was when he was sixteen, which had only lasted three months. As a nineteen year old, Phil barely counted that as a relationship.

His thoughts were interrupted by a faint buzzing noise, which, as he looked over his arms that were rested on his knees, realized that Dan had turned on the tattoo gun.

“Mag, you know the procedure,” he began, sitting down in the stool that stood in front of Maggie. “This one’ll hurt. A lot. It’s short, though, so it’ll take less than an hour.” He applied something to her skin, and began his work.

A sickening sensation began to form itself in the pit of his stomach. It was the same feeling that grew inside him when he was told he had to accompany his sister in getting a tattoo. The feeling expanded from just his stomach to the tips of his fingers. He ground his teeth and dug his nails into his palm in an attempt to compose himself.

“Just breathe. You’re doing great,” a voice sounded from in front of him. For a moment, Phil thought Dan was speaking to him, but as he looked over at his sister, he saw what he had been dreading to see all night. Maggie lay down, her eyes squeezed shut in pain. Her hand was gripped tightly in B’s, and Phil could see her toes curl through her Vans.

Phil recoiled at the sight. He tried to let himself think of something – anything – else, but his mind only drifted to Maggie’s other tattoos. He could see the skull on her shoulder; that one must’ve taken hours to perfect. Her shorts revealed the thick stencil of a vine wrapped around her thigh; he could imagine the agony of the needle becoming worse as Dan moved up her leg.

Phil simply couldn’t understand why someone would go through all that pain to have something as meaningless as a tattoo be part of their body forever.

He stayed slouched in that uncomfortable black chair for an hour before the buzzing noise stopped, keeping his mind blank except for the surprisingly good music blaring from Dan’s speakers. It was a barely noticeable change in atmosphere, but it had been a key factor in Phil’s revved up nerves. He sat up straight – he needed to fix his posture, he was nineteen for God’s sake, and he already had a bad back – and looked over at Dan’s work.

Phil almost gagged. There looked to be more blood than ink, although as Dan applied a bluish liquid to Maggie’s skin, it was wiped away to reveal three small words, written in Maggie’s barely legible print.

**AWAKE AND UNAFRAID**

She leaned over to examine her new tattoo. With a wide smile, she looked over at Phil.

“Y'know, My Chemical Romance is my favorite band, too.”


	2. Chapter 2

The drive home was quiet. Phil had put both earbuds in his ears as soon as he entered the vehicle, the soothing beat of The Maine controlling his urge to rip of the skin of his chest from imagining a needle piercing them repeatedly, the only reward from the pain being a permanent string of words from a My Chemical Romance song that may or may not have been on Phil’s list of favorite things ever to exist.

But that was besides the point.

Phil’s eyes flickered to Maggie, who seemed to be subconsciously grazing her slim, pale fingers against the patch of gauze that covered her new tattoo, her other hand placed in B’s. They were all listening to music.

For a moment, Phil wondered what they were listening to. But then he remembered their strict music preferences. Maggie would be listening to either Twenty One Pilots or My Chemical Romance. B’s purple headphones were probably emitting something more indie. She’d mentioned to Maggie that someone named Hozier wasn’t appreciated enough. He’d have to check that one out.

“What d'you mean you’ve never listened to Hozier before?!” B exclaimed from the hanging chair in Phil’s room when they’d got back to Phil and Maggie’s apartment. “Do you not listen to the radio?” She slipped her off-white Chucks from her feet without untying them. They landed with a soft clunk onto Phil’s floor.

“Actually, I don’t,” he said, jumping onto his bed. He assumed his regular conversing position on his mattress with his legs crossed, one red-clad foot resting above the other purple polka-dotted one. It was true: he didn’t listen to the radio. The only songs they played were pop and rap and overrated love ballads. Phil simply couldn’t let himself go through the pain of listening to the radio – that’s what he had his iPod for.

“I’m tellin’ you, Lester, you’re one weird specimen.” Phil rolled his eyes and opened his palm. B placed her own lilac-colored iPod in his hand – hers was a newer generation than Phil’s. He plugged it into his speakers and hit the shuffle button under the playlist “Hozier”.

“I dunno, B. This doesn’t really sound like my type of music.” He looked down at the title: Work Song. It wasn’t bad, not as bad as the other atrocities Phil had encountered in his brief sessions of radio time whenever Maggie accompanied him on his random drives through the city. She’d always turn on the radio, and Phil always hated it. He’d contemplated getting it removed from his car, but that required effort – a thing Phil knew he only presented when it was extremely necessary.

“B, are you making Phil listen to your indie trash again?” Maggie’s voice interrogated from the hall. Her freckled face appeared in the doorway, a slightly judgmental look aimed towards B.

“I take offence to you calling my music ‘trash’,” B said, her mouth forming into an astonished ‘o’. She planted a foot on the floor so that she could turn the chair to face the door. “How would you feel if I called your emo music 'trash’?”

Maggie thought about it for a moment. “I’d agree with you, to be honest.” B rolled her eyes.

“So, Philip,” Maggie began, turning to face her brother. She entered his room and took a seat at the foot of his mattress. “You were pretty quiet today. Was it the fact that you witnessed a tattooing, or because Dan kept flirting with you?”

Phil gulped, hoping to push down the lump in his throat. He felt his cheeks heat with blush. “I-I uh, um …”

“Uh, um, what?” Maggie mocked, her eyes showing a glint of enjoyment from Phil’s discomfort.

“I dunno? Mag, he probably flirts with everyone who seems uncomfortable. Anyway, he’s like, twenty-five –”

“Twenty-four, actually,” B chimed in.

“Alright then,” Phil sent a glare in her direction. “He’s twenty-four. I’m nineteen. That’s a bit of an age gap.”

“Yeah, but he’s pretty fit, don’t you think?” B said. Both the Lester siblings stared at her with a bemused expression.

“B,” Maggie began. “You’re a lesbian.”

“So? Doesn’t mean I don’t have eyes.” Maggie burst into laughter, and even Phil let out a breathy chuckle.

Funnily enough, B was right. Dan was extremely fit, with his dark brown fringe that perfectly framed his pretty face with those adorable dimples and his chocolate eyes that just screamed sexy.

As much as Dan was attractive, Phil couldn’t tell if he liked him, in that way. He’d had a few girlfriends in the past, but they never meant anything. He never got the chance to experiment and discover his sexuality; he usually put up with everyone’s heteronormativity and occasionally found some conventionally pretty girl to label his girlfriend mainly so that he wasn’t confronted by his father about not being sociable enough. Never had he thought about liking someone who wasn’t a conventionally pretty girl, especially someone of his own gender.

“Hey you two,” B said, interrupting Phil’s thoughts. Phil leaned over to turn down the music, which Maggie had switched to a playlist called “For When Maggie’s iPod Is Dead”, which was a compilation of every Twenty One Pilots song B had downloaded.

“Hm?” Maggie hummed from her spot on Phil’s bed, her fingers running through her red hair.

“Jason just texted me saying there’s a party at his place. Lots of booze. You guys up for a bit of partying?”

Phil thought about it. Going out would mean he’d have to see people. He wasn’t sure he was in the mood to do such a thing. “Eh, I dunno,” he said at last, absentmindedly scrolling through his Twitter feed. Nothing there interested him, the fact that he even had a Twitter was a mystery to him. “Dad’s gonna be home soon, and I don’t feel like listening to another one of his pointless lectures.”

“Actually,” Maggie began, turning to face her brother, “Dad’s in Cardiff for the week. You’d know that if you actually came out of your room.”

“C'mon, Phil! You’re a strapping young man – fuck, you’re still technically a teenager. When’s the last time you went to a party?” B said, her eyebrows becoming a tad bit too intimidating for Phil.

“Oh, I dunno, last year?”

“Last year?! Phil, you need to get out of this house. It’s bad for your social skills.”

Maggie laughed. “Social skills? Who needs those when you’ve got cheekbones that prominent!”

Phil self-consciously brought his hands to his cheek and let out an embarrassed chuckle.

“Mag, don’t discourage him! C'mon, Philly,” she gave him a cheeky wink, “we’re leaving in twenty.”

So Phil went with them.

Jason’s house was large, to say the least. It had to be, to house the absurd number of eleven children. Jason was notorious for throwing extravagantly large parties when his parents went travelling, which was more often than was probably healthy. Being the youngest, and having all of his siblings moved out and have lives of their own, he had the entire mansion to himself.

The front door was open when they arrived, and when Phil walked in behind Maggie and B, they were bombarded with a crowd of people saying hello and wondering why they hadn’t seen Phil since graduation and if he’d been enjoying his gap year and if he was single and if he’d been to that party that had that really insignificant but mildly funny event happen.

And Phil felt as if he had a swarm of butterflies living in his stomach. It wasn’t that Phil had crippling anxiety, he just had a problem with large crowds. And so did Maggie. With just a glance, both him and B could tell that Maggie looked extremely uncomfortable with the number of people trying to converse with her at the same time. B mouthed I got them, you go take her inside.

Phil carefully slid his hand into Maggie’s and led her to a mildly less crowded space next to the containers of alcohol. Maggie ran her bony fingers through her hair, taking in a deep breath.

“Thanks,” was all she said, reaching down into one of the countless amount of coolers to grab herself and Phil a beer. He wasn’t really in the mood to drink, but he took the dripping, cold bottle anyway.

“I’m gonna go outside for a fag,” he said a while later; him and Maggie and B had settled themselves down in one of the many lounge areas, where B was catching up with what must’ve been a group of friends from grade school. He looked down at his beer, he’d managed to empty a quarter of it in the time they’d been there.

“Okay,” Maggie said, slowly, as if she was taking extra care in her pronunciation. She gave him a forced smile, and Phil saw the almost-empty bottle of something clear in her hand.

It took Phil a few minutes to navigate his way through the many rooms that brought him to a simple sliding glass door. Taking a breath of fresh air, he realized how crowded it was in the house, even with the over abundance of space.

With the cigarette between his lips, the end lit and smoldering, he took a drag. His lungs screamed in disagreement with the toxins, but he kept the breath in his body for a few more seconds. The grey smoke left his mouth in a small cloud.

He leaned his back against the siding of the house, his bright red t-shirt contrasting against the pristine white paint. He took another drag, his eyes habitually closing to enjoy the fullness of the small high.

“Mind if I borrow your lighter?” a slightly familiar voice sounded from beside him. Phil jumped with the sudden noise, his concentration on nothing breaking.

A turn of his head allowed Phil to see the all-too familiar smirk that revealed those trademark dimples. Of course he’d see Dan.

“I, uh – yeah, sure,” he stuttered, taking the small blue thing from his front pocket and handing it to the brown-eyed boy. He gave a slight nod in thanks, bringing it to his lips and lighting up his cigarette before taking a drag. He held his in shorter than Phil had, barely opening his full, pink lips to let the small stream of smoke escape.

“Never really expected someone like you to smoke,” he glanced over at the younger boy, “let alone be at a party like this.”

Phil couldn’t hide his curiosity. “What d'you mean, 'someone like me’?”

Dan chuckled, inhaling another puff of smoke. Phil’s eyes traveled to the rolled up sleeves of his black jumper, almost every inch of the skin of his forearm covered in dark ink. “You just look like one of those innocent people.” Phil raised an eyebrow. Dan chuckled, again, at his expression. “You just seem really shy, I guess. Whatever, maybe not, I’m a shit judge of character anyway.” He brushed it off and leaned against the side of the house, mere inches away from Phil.

“You’re pretty close, actually,” Phil said, a bit quietly. He was afraid Dan didn’t hear, but he continued anyway. “I’m generally pretty flustered around people, but that’s only because I tend not to waste my time with them – they usually don’t like me.”

“I don’t see what’s not to like,” Dan said, his voice a slight whisper. He turned to look at Phil.

He felt the blood rise to his cheeks and was eternally grateful for the bit of black fringe that covered half his face. “Anyway, why are you even here? This place is crowded with 12-years,” he said, changing the subject.

“You aren’t exactly in college, are you?” Dan said, his lips reconnecting with his cigarette. Phil watched the way his lips created an “o” around the fag, tightening the slightest bit with each inhale. He looked away as soon as Dan’s eyes met his, another blush forming in his cheeks.

“Gap year,” he replied. “I’m nineteen.”

“You’re legal,” is all he said. Phil felt his stomach clench with nerves.

Phil looked down at his shoes, kicking a pebble in front of his foot. “You never answered my question,” he muttered, ignoring Dan’s comment.

Dan smirked, his dimple reappearing. “I went to school with Jason’s siblings. Martin and Joey are his twin brothers, they were in my year. I actually dated his sister Janine for a while, but she broke up with me because she realized that she wasn’t into guys.” He laughed, his eyes crinkling and his dimple forming next to his lips. “That was also the year that I realized I was into guys.”

He looked over at Phil as if he expected him to say something. He only kept his eyes to the ground, his hand bringing his half-smoked cigarette to his lips.

“Anyway,” he continued, “Jason and I are pretty close, I guess. He was in the parlor today, getting a cartilage piercing, and invited me. I basically just came for the weed, but the stoners got to it first.” A smile tugged on his lips.

“Maggie and Bianca dragged me along,” Phil confessed, finishing off the last of the cigarette. “They kept telling me I should get out more, that my cheekbones won’t cut it when it comes to actually making proper friends.” He let out a chuckle at the absurdity of what had just come from his lips.

Dan chuckled, taking a long drag. “You don’t happen to want to leave, do you?” he said, his chocolate eyes staring into amethyst.

“I wish, but – oh,” he said, realizing what he meant. “You mean, with you?”

Dan smiled, his chocolate eyes twinkling. “Fuck, is it really that obvious?” he said, the sarcasm dripping off of his words.

Phil’s mind was racing. He’d thought that Dan’s excessive flirting was just like second nature, that he did it to everyone. Maybe he did, a quiet voice in the back of his head whispered. If he did, why did it matter?

Fuck it, Phil answered. I’m young, I’m supposed to have fun, Dan’s fit, and I’ve got absolutely no reason to say no.

“Yeah, let’s leave,” he said, his striking blue eyes glistening with courage.

Dan raised his eyebrow, his face morphing into one of shock. “Seriously?” He stood still for a moment, absorbing what he’d just heard. “I-I mean, yeah … yeah, okay.” Phil giggled at his flustering, following Dan around the side of the house and entering the passenger’s seat of a large, black vehicle. Something changed in Dan’s eyes, Phil noted. He seemed … confused, but controlled.

Dan pulled up to a parking lot Phil recognized from earlier that night. Of course, Phil’s mind whispered, he owns this place, he must live in the loft above. Inside the parlor at night, with the lights off and the glow of the moon glistening through the windows and onto the light wood of the floor made the place seem less intimidating. It was as if the place was sleeping, and so was his fear of it.

He was led to a door in the back of the long room, up a short staircase and into Dan’s flat. Which, surprisingly, was nothing as he’d imagined. The walls were painted white, decorated with colorful paintings and sketches, some seemingly nailed into the plaster, others hanging by old tape. All of the furniture was either black or white, all except for an easel, light beige in original color, now coated in hundreds of shades of paint from use, sitting in the far corner of the lounge. It was breathtaking to look at, even in the darkness.

Phil stood a bit awkwardly in the lounge, leaning against the gap in the wall that connected the lounge to the kitchen. Eyes fixated on Dan, Phil watched as he stepped closer to him, his eyes black without the light. Phil could feel his heart surge in his chest with each step, his feet soundless against the hard floor.

He broke eye contact when Dan as he stopped, his face inches from his own. From his peripheral vision, he could see Dan tilt his head to the side, his lips coming closer and closer to his own. He stopped, his breath slow and steady, eyes searching for Phil’s.

He looked back into those dark, emotion-filled eyes, which now held an aura of care. “You seem scared,” he whispered against his lips, his breath tasting of cigarette smoke and mint.

Phil gulped nervously. “I just … I’ve never –”

“You’ve never been with a guy,” Dan finished, pulling away. He rested his body against his hand, that was pushed up against the wall right beside Phil’s ear.

“Look, I –” Phil began.

“No.” He cut him off, his eyes changing with the flick of a light switch, the fairy lights draped along the walls adding a bright twinkle to the hard color. “No, it’s fine. Great, in fact.”

Phil cocked an eyebrow, suspicious of Dan’s intentions. “What d'you mean?”

Dan smiled, his dimple reappearing on his cheek. “This is good.” He leaned back, staring Phil in the eyes. “I like you. I really, truly do. I wouldn’t want you to be another one of those people that just enter my life for a night of sex and leave the next morning. You’re shy, and you’re cute, and –” He cut himself off, his eyes losing focus for a fraction of a second before coming back into contact with Phil’s. He let out a long sigh, but didn’t say anything more.

Phil stayed silent, still trying to absorb what he’d just heard Dan say while also trying to hide the massive blood rush to his face. He liked me, was all his mind could muster. He liked me, he liked me, he liked me.

“I like you too,” Phil squeaked, barely audible. Dan’s eyes found his again, his lips outstretching in a smile. “You’re a bit intimidating, to be honest,” he said, nodding to Dan’s arm, which still sat next to Phil’s head, “but you’re different than I expected you to be.”

Dan’s eyes lit up, the fairy lights adding a hopeful glow. “Is that a good thing?”

Phil nodded, staring at the older boy in front of him. “Yeah,” he said, a smile tugging on his lips. “It’s a good thing.”


	3. Chapter 3

Phil stood under the black night, the moon a quarter of the way through its cycle, it’s reflection illuminating his fair skin a ghostly pale. He stood outside the parlor, both earbuds in his ears blaring the song Maggie had so famously found courage in. Phil needed to borrow some of that courage, at least for what he was about to do.

So many  
Bright lights, they cast a shadow  
But can I speak?  
Well is it hard understanding  
I’m incomplete  
A life that’s so demanding  
I get so weak  
A love that’s so demanding  
I can’t speak

He took a deep breath, his feet – that were previously immovable – began to walk forward, his hand reaching up to grab the doorknob, his terrified reflection staring back at him with timid, blue eyes.

I am not afraid to keep on living  
I am not afraid to walk this world alone  
Honey if you stay, I’ll be forgiven  
Nothing you can say can stop me going home

Turning his wrist, he opened the door, the familiar chill climbing up his spine, similar to the one he experienced the last time he stepped foot in Dan’s parlor. Half of it was due to the cool temperature, the other half from Phil’s lack of comfort.

‘Cause I see you lying next to me  
With words I thought I’d never speak  
Awake and unafraid  
Asleep or dead

Phil took a look around the cramped room and realized he was alone. Attempting a casual facade, he took a seat in one of the many leather chairs that lined the black walls. He held his phone in his left hand and removed one of his earbuds from his right, turning down the volume of his music so that he might hear Dan if he appeared from wherever he was.

“Phil?” a voice spoke minutes later. Phil’s head snapped up.

“Oh, uh – hi,” he said, stuffing his phone into his jacket’s pocket. He clumsily stood up, his trembling hands trying to find something to grab a hold to as to calm down his nerves. He settled for the string hanging from his hood.

“Yeah, hey,” Dan said, his expression full of confusion. He ran a tattooed hand through his hair. “What are you doing here?”

“I, uh …” Phil took a deep breath, his palms sweaty and his heart thumping maniacally in his chest. “I came here for a tattoo.”

Dan stood still, his mouth open as if he were about to say something. “Hm,” he hummed, his brows furrowing. He looked into the smaller boy’s eyes, taking a step towards him. “You know, last week, when you thought I was going to kiss you, you looked just as freaked out as you do now.” He took another step forward; he was only a foot away. “And I know,” he took another short step, “that your eyes will glimmer with relief,” another step; they were so close, Phil wondered if he could hear his heart racing in his chest, “when I tell you,” if they got any closer they’d be touching, “that I won’t do it.”

Phil gasped, the knot that had grown in his stomach untying. He didn’t know if he could hold his facade any longer.

Dan smiled, taking a seat next to him. “So really. Why are you here?”

Phil gulped, his Adam’s apple bobbing. He ran a shaky hand through his hair. “I wanted to see you,” he whispered, mustering the shred of courage he had left to try not to stutter.

Dan chuckled. “You could’ve called.”

“I didn’t have your number,” he admitted sheepishly. Dan, again, chuckled, taking Phil’s phone from his now-still hands – his fingers brushing with his own, which caused Phil’s heart to flutter – and slid his finger over the screen.

“Passcode?” he mumbled, looking up at Phil.

He paused for a moment, embarrassed. “Uh, 2-2-0-3,” he mumbled.

Dan tapped his thumbs against the screen, his lips upturning into a smile. “You really are an MCR fan.”

Phil felt the blood rush to his cheeks, a giggle slipping through his lips. Dan handed him back his phone and stood up, pushing his fringe to the side of his face.

“Do you mind waiting fifteen minutes or so? I’ve just got someone in the back,” he said, pointing towards the hallway behind him. Phil nodded, standing up.

“I’ll be outside,” he said, turning around and stepping away from the discomfort.

Taking a long breath of the cold autumn air, Phil rested his back against the brick wall of the building. He ran a clammy hand through his jet black fringe, pushing it away from his eyes. His hand wrapped around his phone timidly; he wanted to listen to music to tune out the world, but he couldn’t think of a song that would ease his anxious nerves.

He patted his pockets, looking for a small rectangular lump. Cold fingers latched themselves around the top of the cigarette box. Flipping over the top, he checked to see how many he had remaining: 2. He left a mental note to visit the nearest drug store on his way home.

He took a drag of his newly lit cigarette. Chocolate eyes usurped his mind, luscious pink lips clouded his vision, and in the exhale of smoke Phil could see a silhouette of Dan’s face.

“I spend too much time here,” a voice whispered from next to him. Phil didn’t jump this time, he merely looked over at the face he’d been thinking about and smiled.

“S'pose you have to. You work here,” Phil murmured, taking another drag of his cigarette.

Dan pulled one from the pocket of his skin tight black jeans and shrugged. “Still gotta get out sometimes though. I mean, it’s wake up, go downstairs, work all day, and spend a few hours after work back upstairs screaming at the telly. It gets a bit boring after a while.”

Phil’s eyes lit up, a smile growing on his face. “C'mon, I know a place.”

A moment of confusion surfaced in Dan’s eyes, but he took Phil’s hand in his own and followed him across the pavement.

Phil brought them along the city streets, through the winding roads, and across patches of fading green grass. They finally arrived at a park; one Dan had never encountered in his 24 years of living in London.

“Where are we?” Dan asked in a whisper, his hand still locked into Phil’s.

“We’re not there yet. Hold on,” Phil replied, leading him into the small strip of forest that lined the park.

“You’re not taking me out here to kill me, are you?” He meant it as a joke, but then realized how little he actually knew Phil.

“Of course not. You’re too pretty to murder,” Phil said, a slight chuckle escaping his lips.

They entered a small clearing, surrounded by a thin layer of trees. A long piece of wood was laid down in the position of a bench. Phil sat down, patting the spot next to him for Dan to join.

Phil pulled out the small box from his pocket. He only had one cigarette left, and he knew that the one Dan smoked at the parlor was his last.

“I know we don’t really know each other that well, ” Phil began, “but would you happen to want to share a fag?”

Dan laughed, both dimples appearing in his cheeks. “Yeah, sure. Fuck, I need a smoke after all of this walking.”

Phil pulled the cigarette from the container and held it up for Dan to light. He took a drag and closed his eyes, letting the sensation of the nicotine fill up every ounce of himself in bliss.

Dan took it next, his drag short and blunt. Phil didn’t understand him. He didn’t think he’d ever be able to relate to Dan’s love of ink, or to his disregard for the feeling of a high.

“Shit, is that what I think it is?” Phil heard Dan mutter, the half-burned cigarette lightly held in his fingers. Phil felt something cold touch his nose. A smile sneaked itself onto his lips, and he turned towards Dan.

“We better go back. You won’t like what you see in the rain,” Dan said, hurrying down the path and back into the streets.

“Why not?” Phil said, trying to keep up.

“Because this happens,” he said, pointing to his hair. It was pouring now, and both boys were completely soaked. Dan’s hair was now a mess of curls, dripping with water.

“Why would I not like you like this?” he said, grabbing his arm to stop him from turning away. “I think you look adorable.”

“Oh, because adorable is what I strive to be,” Dan said with a smirk. He rolled his eyes. “I feel so pretentious. Like, this is definitely a scene in at least five different cringe-worthy teen movies.”

“Except,” Phil said, “in the movies, they’d be making out right about now.”

Dan looked up, brown meeting blue in a wave of uncertainty. “Would you like that? ” he whispered, bringing himself closer to Phil. “To be in a movie?”

Phil felt his breath hitch, Dan’s face so close to his own. He was reminded of the night Dan had almost kissed him, and his heart began to beat faster. “There’s nothing in the world I would like more.”

Dan’s rose lips upturned in a smirk. He leaned forward, and Phil did the same. Their lips met, and Phil felt a wave of emotions wash over him. He decided that kissing Dan was a better high than any cigarette could provide.

They entered Dan’s apartment, their dripping clothes soaking the threshold.

“I’ve got some stuff you can wear,” Dan said, kicking off his soggy shoes and walking into another room. “They’re probably a bit big though. Hope that’s okay.” He threw a pair of light gray sweats and a navy blue hoodie at him. Phil caught them in his arms and began to strip.

The clothes were warm, as if they’d just come out of the dryer. The sleeves extended way past his hands, and he almost tripped over the surplus fabric at his feet. Nonetheless, he situated himself on the sofa and wrapped his arms around his knees, waiting for Dan to walk out of what he supposed was his bedroom.

“I could definitely do that again,” Dan said, walking out of his room. He only wore a pair of loose black sweatpants, the elastic only barely gripping his hips. Phil swallowed, trying to suppress the fluttering in his stomach. His eyes moved from the contrast of the black fabric and his pale skin to the tattoos that adorned his whole body. Almost every inch of his skin was covered with black ink, from cursive words Phil couldn’t decipher to various objects and symbols. He finally arrived at the dark, chocolate eyes he found both mysterious and comforting.

The sides of his lips twitched to form a ghost of a smile. “What, run around London in the pouring rain?” Phil fiddled with the night-colored string of the sweatshirt. 

Dan chuckled. “Oh no. I’m never going outside again.” He sat down across from Phil, the cold skin of their feet making contact. “I mean the kissing thing.”

Phil could feel the blood rush into his cheeks. He sunk back further into the cushion of the couch, his raven fringe hiding his shy eyes. “I could too,” he whispered, his lip habitually finding its way into the gap between his top and bottom row of teeth.

Dan moved himself across the couch so he was lying next to Phil, and shifted his body so that Phil was underneath him, his arms forming a wall around the younger boy. His knees settled right beside Phil’s hips, and his face hung over Phil’s.

Phil could feel Dan’s breath on his lips; it tasted of old gum and cigarette smoke. He looked up into the copper-colored abyss that was Dan’s eyes and could feel an overwhelming warmth circulate through his body. He felt as if he could jump right into them; how peaceful that would be, to exist in something so beautiful and pure.

Dan shifted his shoulders, and the two boys’ lips connected for the second time that night. Phil’s body burst with a flood of overwhelmingly ebullient emotions. His hand rested gently on Dan’s face, pulling him even closer. Dan broke the kiss, hovering over Phil’s lips in an attempt to catch his breath.

His head maneuvered past Phil’s face and into the crook of his neck, where he pulled down the collar of his sweatshirt. Phil shivered at the feeling of the warm breath against his sensitive skin.

“I love kissing you,” Dan whispered. His lips brushed over the pale flesh, and Phil involuntarily brought his hand up Dan’s naked back and into his chocolate curls.

“M-me too,” Phil stuttered as Dan sucked at the skin right below his jaw. He grazed his teeth softly over the bruised mark, sending Phil into a fit of choked-back moans.

Dan brought his face back up to Phil’s for one final peck on his lips before nudging Phil’s arm around his shoulder and shifting his body so he was snuggled into Phil – his face in Phil’s chest, his back in the cushion of the sofa.

Dan’s exposed skin sparked a flame of curiosity within Phil. He took his index finger and gingerly placed it over one of the black patches of skin on Dan’s arm. He traced the delicate patterns inside the large hamsa that began at his shoulder and extended to his upper arm. Dan moved his chin onto Phil’s chest so he was looking into his glacier-like eyes.

“D'you like them?” The corner of his lip pulled in the form of a smirk.

“I dunno,” he said, his eyes fixated on the ink. “I haven’t really decided. I’ve never really like tattoos, but maybe that’s just because I don’t understand them.”

“What’s there to understand about a tattoo?” He cocked an eyebrow, a dimple forming in his cheek.

“Why someone would get one, I mean. I just don’t really understand how someone can ruin their skin like that.” Dan pointed to the red mark on his neck in a retort. “Permanently,” he added.

“Well, your first problem is that you can’t think of it like that. Getting a tattoo isn’t 'permanently ruining’ your skin. It’s an expression of art.” He took a deep breath and snuggled closer into Phil. “Think of it like this: you begin your life as a blank canvas. No cuts, no scars, no tattoos, just perfect, innocent, inexperienced skin. As you get older, you alter that canvas, whether it’s accidental or not. Like, for instance, when you learn how to ride a bike, and you fall off and scrape your knee. That scar is proof that you lived, that you did something meaningful in your life. Tattoos are the same. No one should die without proof that they lived their life to the fullest.”

Phil tilted his head back and stared at the ceiling, his mind trying to comprehend what he’d just heard. “Yenno, I’ve never thought of it like that,” he admitted after a few moments of silence. He looked over at the beautiful boy lying next to him and sighed.

“I think I better go,” he said, swinging both legs over the edge of the couch.

“No,” Dan said softly, his hand pressed timidly on his shoulder. “Stay, please.”

Phil turned around. Dan’s body may have not shown any desperation, but his eyes seemed to tremble with the thought of being alone. He leaned back into the cushion and let out a quiet sigh. His arms wrapped around Dan’s bare torso and he nuzzled his face into his chest.

He tried to stop the thoughts by shutting his eyes, but his brain couldn’t rid itself of the existential thoughts.

Was he just a blank canvas?


	4. Chapter 4

It had been just a week. Only seven long, dragging days since Phil had seen Dan. Phil craved the taste of his kiss, the way he smirked before leaning in to touch his lips with his own, the feel of his damp curls between his fingers.

It had been a week since Phil had seen Dan, but that didn’t mean they hadn’t talked. Phil’s phone was constantly blowing up with texts from him.

dan: good morning, u beautiful ray of sunshine ^-^

dan: i miss u

dan: pls wake up. i wanna kiss u

dan: phillllllllllllll

dan: i’ll give u head if u talk to me.

dan: pls. im begging.

phil: fuck off im asleep

dan: how bout i fuck you instead ;)

“Whatcha lookin’ at?” a soft voice spoke from behind him. Phil turned around, seeing the same sparkling eyes he saw when he looked in the mirror.

“Oh, nothin’.” He pressed the lock button on his phone, attempting to save himself from any embarrassment at the hand of Maggie.

“Alright. I get it. You’re texting your boyfriend,” she said with a smirk. She set her school bag down in an empty chair, seating herself at the island. Her mischievous eyes glanced at the screen of his phone, which had lit up with a text from Dan:

dan: what’s ur opinion on public sex (it’s for science)

“He’s not my boyfriend,” Phil retorted, pulling the screen away from the gaze of his sister.

“Sure,” she said, rolling her eyes. “But you should know, if I wasn’t with B,” she said, “I’d go for him. He’s a looker, that boy.”

“Oi!” B shouted from somewhere in the flat. “I heard that!”

Phil felt the blood rush to his cheeks. He searched his brain for something to change the subject.

“Hey, Mags, when’s the last time you ate something?”

Previously engrossed in the picking of her nail polish off of her fingernails, she looked up, startled. “Uh …” She glanced at her bag. “Sorry Philly, I gotta go.”

Before he could stop her, she swung her bag over her shoulder and ran out the door.

“Did Mags leave already?” B murmured from the hallway. Phil leaned back in his chair so he could see her: she sported a pair of flannel pyjama pants and a Manchester University sweatshirt (which Phil realized was his own), and her lilac hair was a mess of unruly curls.

“Yeah,” he replied, watching as she trudged around the kitchen and poured herself a cuppa. “But I don’t think she ate. She’s been acting a bit funny lately.”

B paused mid-sip, her emerald eyes filled with concern. “Fuck. She promised me she’d eat breakfast.” She placed her mug down on the counter and ran a hand through her curls, her bottom lip tucked between her teeth. “She didn’t eat at all yesterday, but I’m not really that surprised. It’s been about time since things got bad again.”

Phil raised his eyebrow. “What d’you mean?”

“Haven’t you looked at a calendar? It’s almost … that date.”

Phil’s eyes widened in surprise. He felt disgusted with himself; how could he forget the anniversary of his own mother’s death?

“Shit. Alright, um, I’ll take care of this,” he said, jumping out of the chair and pacing along the thin strip of tile that lined the kitchen.

“No, I’ll take care of this,” she said. “This happens more often than you’d think. And, plus, you’ll start bleeding if you bite your lip any harder.”

Phil stopped in his tracks, letting go of the pink flesh he didn’t even register was being held hostage by his teeth.

“Alright. But call me if you need anything. Seriously.”

“Will do,” she said, taking another swig of coffee. “Now, if you don’t mind, I need a shower.”

Phil sat back down, his finger unlocking the screen of his phone. He grabbed a piece of toast from the plate in front of him and absentmindedly chewed as he scrolled through his Twitter feed.

A notification banner replaced the blue bar, and in it a message from Dan:

What if I told you that I have the whole day off?

Phil replied quickly, setting the crust of the bread on the table.

I’d grab a cab and head to your place.

His phone buzzed almost immediately.

Good. Be quick, I miss you.

Phil grabbed a tenner from his room and dashed outside, the air still damp from the previous night’s rain.

—

“Dan?” Phil called from the threshold. Dan had left the doors open, and he hadn’t answered his texts from the ride over. Phil threw his jacket on the couch, peering his head around the corner. The sight of chocolate curls made his heart flutter.

“I thought you hated your hair curly,” Phil said, walking up behind Dan. He sat on the floor, a sketchbook in his hand. His eyebrows furrowed in concentration, and Phil couldn’t help but smile at the sight.

“I do,” he said, looking up at him. “But since you think it’s ‘adorable’, and I don’t have the effort to straighten it, I decided to leave it au naturel.”

“What’re you drawing?” Phil asked, kneeling down next to him. Dan snatched the book from the floor before Phil could see what was inside.

“It’s not ready yet.” He glanced at Phil’s lips and gently pecked them with his own. “But I do need to ask you something: would you be interested in modelling for me?”

“Model, like, ‘Draw me like one of your French girls’ kinda model?”

Dan laughed, his cheeks revealing the dimples Phil grew so fond of. “No – unless you want to, of course.” He winked, and Phil rolled his eyes.

“Alright. Just promise me you won’t make me look ugly.”

“I couldn’t if I tried.”

—

“Finally,” Phil groaned as soon as Dan informed him that he was done. He stretched his arms behind his back until he heard a satisfying pop. “Do I get to see the finished product?” He walked behind Dan and leaned his chin on his shoulder, but Dan kept the book held to his chest.

“I’m not sure yet,” he said, turning around to face Phil. “I’ve never showed anyone what’s in here before.”

A smirk appeared on Phil’s lips. “Dan, you draw art on people for a living.”

He looked down, his arms still wrapped tightly around the leather-clad pages. “It’s not the same. This, what’s in here, it’s personal. Really personal. I just don’t know if I’m ready to share something that close to me to anyone yet.”

“Hey, hey,” Phil said, his voice barely a whisper. “Don’t worry, I get it. I won’t pester you. If you’re not comfortable with showing me, then you don’t have to.”

“Now, about that promise from earlier…”

Dan set the book down on the coffee table behind him. He took a step forward, cupped Phil’s face with his soft hands, and crashed their lips together. Phil pushed back with just as much force, their mouths moving in a passionate synchronization. Phil ran his hands through Dan’s disarray curls, and a moan escaped from the older boy’s lips.

They paused, disconnecting their lips to catch their breath. A thin line of saliva created a bridge between their mouths as they pulled apart. Phil could feel electricity radiate throughout his body, could hear the blood pumping in his ears.

The two boys moved to the sofa. Dan sat down first, his face flushed and his chest rising and falling at a rapid pace. Phil positioned himself so he was straddling his hips. A wave of pleasure shot through Phil’s body as he leaned in, connecting his swollen lips to Dan’s. He didn’t think he could ever get tired of the taste of his lips, the feel of his hair in his fingers, the way his hands slowly ran up his back and sent shivers down his spine …

Bzzz. Bzzz. Bzzz.

Both boys stopped abruptly, momentarily bemused by the interruption. A vexed hum bubbled up from Phil’s beating chest as he pulled his phone from his back pocket. Without looking at the number, he silenced his phone and rested his hands on Dan’s black tee shirt.

“Now, where were we?” Dan said, his eyes begging for more.

Phil smirked, and carelessly pulled the dark fabric over Dan’s head and threw it behind him. Dan chuckled, sliding his hands under Phil’s own button-down and drawing small circles in his back.

They brought their lips together again, falling deeper and deeper into the kiss with each moment. Phil absentmindedly rolled his hips down onto Dan’s, and a high-pitched whimper escaped his lips. With the semi Phil was sporting, it took all his energy not to whimper in response.

Phil broke away from Dan’s lips, brushing them along his jawline. When his lips landed on his neck, he slid his tongue over the sensitive skin, and began to suck. His left hand moved from Dan’s hair, down his tattooed chest, and laid rest on the large bulge that stuck out from his black skinny jeans.

“Fuck,” Dan moaned, tilting his head back in pleasure.

Phil pulled away, admiring the red mark on Dan’s neck.

Dan, overcome with lust, flipped Phil so that he was laying underneath him. He pulled the white fabric of his shirt, ripping the buttons and revealing Phil’s pale, tattoo-less chest. He brought his hand down to Phil’s crotch and palmed his erection through his jeans, sending a wave of pleasure throughout Phil’s body.

Dan unhooked the button and pulled the zipper of Phil’s pants, and pushed them down to his knees. A bout of anxiety washed over him, and he looked at Dan with a frightened expression.

“Has anyone ever given you head before?” Dan asked, a glimmer in his caramel eyes. Phil shook his head sheepishly, his cerulean eyes clouded with uncertainty.

“Don’t worry,” he whispered, trailing his fingers over Phil’s erect member. He writhed to the touch, hating the constriction of the thin piece of fabric separating him and Dan. “I’ll be gentle.”

Phil tilted his head back and took a deep breath. Dan lowered Phil’s boxers, and took a moment to admire his throbbing, red cock. The slit oozed with precum, and Dan took the tip of his tongue and slid it along the head, tasting the salty liquid.

A deep hum shook Phil’s shaking chest. He pushed the back of his head into the cream-colored cushion, his eyes closed in preparation for whatever Dan had in store for him.

“Shit," he said, wrapping his pale, lanky fingers around the base, “you’re bigger than I thought you’d be.”

Phil’s eyes snapped open, and he let out a scoff. “I’m gonna take that as a compliment.”

A smirk pulled at the corner of Dan’s lips. He moved his hand up and down the base of his shaft, and Phil let out a shaking breath from the painfully slow pace.

“Fuck, Dan. Go faster, please,” Phil whined, his hand grasping the closest thing it could find.

Dan chuckled before parting his lips and enveloping Phil’s cock with his mouth. He bobbed his head up and down, gradually getting faster, and faster, and faster, until ….

“Fuck, fuck, Dan I’m gonna cum,” Phil said through his shaking breaths, his naked body trembling with ecstasy.

Dan looked up at the younger boy, brown locked onto blue as a wave of white liquid shot down Dan’s throat. He moaned at the taste, licking the excess off of his sore lips.

“Was that alright?” Dan said, jumping up on the sofa to wrap his arm around Phil’s bare shoulders.

“Alright?” he said in between pants. “It was definitely a lot more than ‘alright’.”

Dan chuckled, running his fingers over the yellow bruise from their last encounter. “Good. ‘Cause I’m a bit rusty.”

“I can’t even imagine how you perform with practice.”

“You’ll find out soon enough,” he said with a wink. Phil chuckled, finding his shirt and pulling it over his head. He forced his jeans up his legs, but didn’t feel the usual lump where he kept his mobile.

“Hey Dan, have you seen my phone anywhere?” Phil said, lifting up the cream cushions. Nothing.

“Yeah, it’s right here,” Dan called from the floor. He slid the small device from under the couch and looked at the notifications, his brows furrowing. “Uh, Phil. You got like, eight calls and at least thirty texts from Bianca.”

Phil jumped over the sofa, grabbing the phone from Dan’s hands and entering the code. He looked at the latest, his heart shooting into his throat.

bb: please answer please please please

bb: i need someone phil please

bb: PHIL LESTER THIS IS AN EMERGENCY

bb: please answer my calls goddammit your sister is DYING for fucks sake

“Phil, wait up!” Dan called. Phil was already out the door, his heart pulsating maniacally in his chest. He had to get to Maggie. He was so stupid! Why would he silence his phone if he knew she was getting bad?

“Phil!” Dan said, gaining on him. He was panting. “What’s going on?”

“It’s Maggie.”

A look of realization surfaced in Dan’s features. He waved over a cab and climbed in, Phil directly behind him. Phil didn’t even realize his hands were interlocked in Dan’s.

She’s dying. She’s dying, and it’s your fault.

It’s always your fault.


	5. Chapter 5

Phil had been in this situation plenty of times before. The first time Maggie was sent to the hospital for under-eating, she'd fainted during gym class in primary school. Maggie had always been skinny, so no one seemed to notice the change when she stopped eating. Phil didn't know about it until she was already home from school, so he didn't have much to worry about as an eleven-year-old.

The second time, it was worse. Maggie had become a skeleton of a person; her skin was leathery and pale, her eyes were sullen with numbness, her lips chapped and swollen. It was like seeing a living corpse. She had become so skinny Phil could wrap both his forefingers and thumbs around her thigh and still have room to hold more. But because their father didn't believe that Maggie had anorexia nervosa, he shut Phil out when he begged him to let her go see a professional.

She collapsed in the shower, the hot steam being too much of a strain for her brittle limbs. She would have been dead if Phil hadn't found her, helpless and clinging to life. He didn't even bother telling his father about it until he received the medical bills, sick of his negligence towards his children.

The last time was one of the scariest nights of Phil's life. His father had just got laid off from his job as an accountant, and he brought home a trunk full of alcohol. Maggie had become skeleton-like again. After finishing two bottles of some rancid-smelling liquor, Maggie tried to hide the rest of it from her father.

That was the first time he hit her.

The first blow to her jaw caused a blood-curdling shriek to escape her lips. Phil rushed in, and watched in horror as his father beat his baby sister until the screaming became nothing but the cries of a ghost. Him and Maggie didn't have the courage to tell anyone besides Bianca about that night, but from that day, Phil promised himself he wouldn't let anything like that happen to Maggie ever again.

Bianca and Phil tried their best to help Maggie with her condition. But because they were broke college students without any help from a supportive adult, there wasn't much they could do. Bianca always made sure she ate whenever she came over, but the two of them couldn't babysit her twenty-four/seven.

This is all my fault, Phil's mind repeated. He'd always been there for Maggie, except for now. Spending time with Dan meant spending time away from his sister.

"Phil, you need to breathe," Dan whispered from beside him. He was hesitant, but cautiously rested his hand on Phil's shoulder.

He didn't even realize he'd been holding his breath.

"I'm just so worried," he said, his voice quivering. It took all of his strength not to start sobbing.

"She's gonna be fine," he said, pulling Phil's head into his chest. He stroked Phil's tousled hair and wiped a tear from the corner of his eye. "Bianca's with her. She'd tell us if anything else happened."

Phil gave a weak nod, pulling himself closer to Dan. The image of her, lying alone in a morgue, her dead body resembling that of the living one, stayed permanent in his mind all throughout the ride to the hospital.

\---

"You fucking selfish piece of shit Phillip Michael Lester," Phil heard as he was guided through the pristine halls of the hospital. Bianca's rage was prominent in her tone, but he rushed at her and wrapped his arms around her shoulders anyway.

"How is she?" he asked, a tear escaping from his eye.

She didn't look up at Phil. "She hasn't woken up yet. A doctor came in about twenty minutes ago and said she was stable, but I'm still freaking out."

"This isn't your fault, B."

"It isn't yours either, jackass."

Dan appeared from the steel doors, his white tee-shirt soaked from Phil's tears.

"Wait a second," Bianca said, looking back and forth between the two boys. "Were you two together, just now?"

Dan searched in Phil's eyes for reassurance that B wouldn't pulverize them if they said yes.

"I can't believe this," B said with a scoff. "Dan you're great and all," she said turning her head to the taller of the three of them, "but Phil," she turned back to Phil, her emerald eyes fueled with rage, "I can't believe you let your sister down like this." She stopped, her eyes glistening with tears.

“I’m sor -" Phil began.

"I thought I was gonna lose her," she continued, tears cascading down her cheeks. "Her pulse was so slow, I checked it but I-I couldn't ... I couldn't ..." A sob escaped her shaking lips. And another. Suddenly, Bianca's arms were slung around Phil's stomach, and he let her cry into his flannel.

Two minutes of silence was all B needed to pull herself together.

"I think I'm gonna go grab a cuppa," she said, a small hiccup escaping her lips. She wiped at her puffy eyes and headed down the too-white corridor. "Text me if Mags wakes up."

Once the steel doors were shut behind her, Phil turned to Dan. "Sorry about that." He chuckled. "She's usually less terrifying."

Dan smirked. "She's stressed out. Pretty understandable in this situation." He brushed his fingers against Phil's. "You okay?"

Phil nodded, his eyes slowly making their way to meet Dan's. "C'mon. I wanna be there when she wakes up." Dan slipped his hand into Phil's and followed him to Maggie's room.

"Oh," Phil said, rushing to the bed. Maggie was laying there, as pale and fragile as ever, but her eyes were fluttering in an attempt to keep them open. "You're awake." Phil couldn't stop the single tear that curved along the side of his relieved smile.

"Mm," she groaned, her voice hoarse and barely audible. "Where ... where's Mom?"

A lump formed in the back of Phil's throat. No matter how many times this happened, Phil could never overcome the thoughts that swirled around in his head.

"Maggie," he croaked softly. He attempted to quiet his racing thoughts before speaking again.

"Mags," he tried again, his voice more audible this time. "Mom ... Mom's been dead for ten years. Don't you remember?" He kept his voice calm, steady. He didn't want to frighten her.

But news like that is never lightly taken.

"What do you mean she's dead?" She tried to sit up, but let out an inaudible gasp at the lack of strength she possessed. Phil couldn't believe he'd let this happen to her again.

"Mags, it's me. It's Phil. And this is Dan, remember?" he slipped his fingers through Maggie's own, cold digits, and turned his head to be met with Dan's worried expression.

She closed her eyes again, but didn't seem to drift off just yet. "Phil." A pause. A few short gasps of breath. "Dan?"

Her eyes opened again. Maggie's eyes used to be a mirror of the sky on a clear, sunny day. Now, they were storm clouds, grey and full of misery.

"Oh." She laid back down, tears swelling her eyes.

Phil didn't let go of her hand.

"This isn't your fault, you know," she whispered, squeezing his hand. "I'm sorry."

"Don't you dare apologize," Phil strained, a tear falling onto their clasped hands. "Don't you dare."

"Phil, can you do me a favor?" Maggie asked after a few moments of silence. She looked hesitant.

"Anything, Mags."

"Can you," she looked down at her thin fingers, taking a deep breath. "Can you call Dad?"

Phil was still for a moment, shocked with the request. He hated his father. In fact, hate wasn't strong enough of a word. But Maggie could never feel that way towards him, no matter how man degrading things he said or how many times he struck her.

He didn't meet her eyes. "I -"

There was yelling coming from outside. Phil could hear the muffled voice from behind the closed door.

"What do you mean 'her condition'? She doesn't have a goddamn condition, she's just an overdramatic teenager! Spending all my bloody money sitting in this shitty hospital for attention!"

"Sir, you need to calm down."

"Calm down? I'm bloody fucking calm, thank you very much. I'm just irritated that I can't take my daughter out of this shithole!"

Phil froze, a reaction he'd never been able to overcome in spite of his mightiest efforts. He just sat there, Maggie's hand in his own, waiting for the worst.

Dan, however, wasn't conditioned to simply watch and wait.

Charles Lester stormed into the room, followed by two mortified nurses who had no idea what to do. His brows furrowed at Maggie lying in the hospital bed.

"Get up. We're leaving." He tried to grab Maggie, but she flinched. She shook her head, tears rolling down her cheeks.

"I said we're leaving. Now!" He pulled on her arm, and she squeaked in pain.

"That's enough," Dan said from behind him. He grabbed Charles' shoulder, and he looked in disgust at the tattoo-covered boy.

"And who the hell are you?" he spat, eyeing him up and down with dissatisfaction.

"Someone who cares as much about Maggie as you should."

"What are you implying, faggot?"

Dan grabbed him by the collar, his face inches from his own. He glanced at Maggie for a moment, curled into Phil's chest, shaking. Phil shook his head at him, and he released the fabric from his grasp.

Phil got up and stood next to Dan. "You can't actually believe that Maggie's here because she wants to be, right?"

Charles' face flushed red in anger. "Well she certainly isn't here because she needs to be!"

"Would you take a fucking look at her? She's sick, for fuck's sake. You must be blind not to see." Phil looked up at the man that had put him through years of abuse and torture, and realized he wasn't his father. Not really. A real father wouldn't let this happen. A real father wouldn't ignore this.

"Well she's not getting any help from me." Phil heard a quiet sob come from behind him.

"You're a sick fucking excuse for a father, you know that? She's here because of you. Because you're such a shit father, and you were such a shit husband. She doesn't need your help. And I don't want you to give it to her. She has people who really care about her," he laced his fingers in Dan's, "and would do anything to see she gets better. Now if you wouldn't mind, I think you should leave." Phil held back tears as he said this, but was strengthened by the short squeeze Dan gave him in encouragement.

Charles gave him a look of pure hatred before leaving the room. He stood at the door for a moment before saying, "Get your shit out of my house by tomorrow." He looked at Maggie, no emotion in his cold eyes. "Both of you."

Maggie let everything go as soon as he left. She curled herself into a ball and began to sob, gasping for breath between each one.

Phil sat down beside her and held her as she continued to cry, her grip weak on his shirt. Dan sat down in the chair next to the IV.

"You two are always welcome at my place," he said, reluctant to interrupt Maggie but desperate to reassure them that they weren't alone.

"No, I don't want to impose," Phil said, rubbing circles into Maggie's back. "We can just stay at B's, a lot of our stuff is there anyway."

"Shit," Dan cursed, realizing that Bianca had missed the entire fiasco. "We should tell B about what happened."

"If it had anything to do with your asshole of a father," B's voice rang from the doorway, "I don't even want to know."

"B -"

"Don't bother. It's been a long day, you two should head back home. Or you can stay at my place if you want. I’ll stay with Mags."

Bianca took Phil's seat beside Maggie as Phil got up, placing a kiss on his sister's forehead before leaving the hospital, his fingers interlocked in Dan's.


End file.
